


You've Got Your Claws In Me

by klauslovesstrauss



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Klamille, Will probably be smut, Witches, porn with a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klauslovesstrauss/pseuds/klauslovesstrauss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Cami talks to Vincent about her complicated romantic feelings "for a monster," and after Klaus informs her that they always would have found their way to each other, she starts having strange dreams involving Klaus, blood, lust, and a dark, mysterious violin playing in the background. The dreams are so vivid and unrelenting, that Cami suspects witches are involved. But that doesn't mean she can't stop thinking about her nightly, sensual waltzes with Klaus. She can't decide if she wants to run to him or to run from him. She has to see Klaus for herself before she loses her mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic, so I hope it's not total trash. If you have any comments or critiques, feel free to comment.
> 
> This takes place after the season two finale. And it's based off a dream I had about Klamille.  
> Thanks for reading!

It’s the dreams that have been bothering her, Cami finally realized; they’ve really got to stop. Too much lust and overwhelming desire. It made her want to go to church and beg for forgiveness. But Cami’s not religious. And she can’t control her subconscious, right? She’s a human being, a psychology major, someone who’s survived the supernatural for years. She’s a strong goddamn woman, so why couldn’t she keep her own thoughts in check?

Her dreams started a week ago. After she was in the enchanted bar with Vincent Griffith, and she admitted to her “feelings for a monster,” and after Klaus showed up all secretive-like, putting thoughts in her head, saying things like “I would have found you” when she tells him that she met him on a whim picking up an extra shift. Then he disappeared with his unnatural speed, and she hasn’t seen him since. She went home that night, and pretended that everything was fine, that everything was the same. But it wasn’t. Cami went through the motions of everyday life; cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, going to school and studying. But they were mechanic actions.

After spending her day pretending that these feelings didn’t exist, she would hope for a dreamless sleep. But that rarely happened. That first night after talking with Klaus, she fell into her bed and wished for something or someone to drown out everything so she should think.

Her eyes closed, and she fell down a dark rabbit hole, one that she would frequent every night. But the very first dream went like this:

_She was in the Mikaelson compound in the French Quarter, but it was creepier than usual, and that says something. The air was darker, the clouds overhead were grey yet shimmering, and there were quiet flashes of lightning without the corresponding boom to go with it. Instead, a dark and mysterious waltz seemed to ooze out of the walls, creeping over her and the entire scene. She looked down at herself and noticed she was wearing a dark blue satin gown that hugged her curves and dipped down her back to obscenely low levels. The skirt of the dress started to flare out just above her knees, and the fabric shifted cool and effortlessly over her body. This dress was something she’d never wear; she was far too modest, and Cami couldn’t fathom how expensive it would be._

_She looked around the compound again, and it was still empty. Suddenly, the waltz started to get louder, and against her will, her body began to move. She twirled, and felt the shimmering fabric glide across her, causing goosebumps to rise on her flesh. She couldn’t help but tug the edges of her lips upward, ever so slightly, at the feeling of glamour and the somber yet creeping sense of heat the waltz was causing. She closed her eyes, felt her eyelashes brushing her skin, when she jerked her eyes back open. The music abruptly stopped, leaving an eerie silence around her except for the bubbling fountain in the middle of the compound. It was Klaus. He appeared on the steps, and his gaze was hungry. Cami gulped and her eyes widened as she took him in. His fingertips were drumming on the banister ever so slowly, and his face darkened with blackish yellow eyes and dark veins. His eyes narrowed in her direction and his mouth opened greedily as his fang lengthened and his tongue swiped across them._

_Cami took an instinctive step back, but started to fall backwards due to the hell of the skirt and the uneven cobblestone underneath her heels. She looked down to untangle them, but when she brought her head back up, Klaus stood before her. This time, his eyes were back to normal, but she noticed a trail of blood from the edge of his mouth down past his chin._

_“Camille,” he murmured, his voice deeper than usual, a borderline growl. “I see the dress fits you like I’d hoped.”_

_His eyes glistened with red heat. He took her hand, which startled Cami, causing her to jump, but Klaus didn’t seem to notice. He slowly twirled her around, looking at the back of the dress, taking it in, and then twirling her back to face him. The music abruptly started again, and Klaus pulled Cami into him at the end of the twirl, and she found herself only fabric pieces away from touching him. Klaus grabbed one hand, lacing it firmly, too firmly, in his grip, and placed the other hand at the very, very small of her back, caressing her at the edge of her dress. Cami felt her heart begin to race; a mixture of fear, panic, curiosity, and the quiet emergence of lust. Up close, she could smell his cologne, a foreign, musky, mysterious scent she had never smelled before. It curled up from the edge of his white collar, and whenever Klaus turned too quickly, her face burrowed into the crease of his neck and shoulder, forcing their skin to touch and her check to feel the fire coming from his skin. She was enveloped in him; she felt a strange concoction of passion and like she was caught in a spider’s web, trapped, and waiting for death._

_“Klaus?” she breathed, barely audible._

_He twisted them and turned with the sound of the music. With the hand on her back, he gripped her side and pushed her to the left so that his mouth landed on her neck, beneath her jawbone. He kept her hand gripped in his pulling their entwined fingers in between their chests. Her free hand gripped onto his bicep for dear life._

_“Yes?” he whispered, parting his lips and dragging his teeth lightly across her neck._

_Her heart picked up pace, erratic, panic-induced, and full of adrenaline. He held her so tightly; her breaths could barely expand for her ragged breaths._

_“Am I going to die?” she managed, coming out as a whimper._

_He trailed his tongue across her skin lightly. “I haven’t decided yet,” he murmured, bringing his kisses up her neck to her ear._

_She gasped with little cries, trying to stifle them, but she was failing. A tear ran down her check and onto Klaus' lips._

_He stopped, his body completely still, except for the flick of his tongue across his lips, as if her fear was palpable in her tears. He quickly grabbed her face in his hands an pulled her even closer to him, staring into her welling eyes. His expression looked concerned, briefly, before furrowing his brow in frustration._

_"Rebekah says that everything we love,_ I _love," he whispered feverously, "we turn to ash."_

_Cami stifled another cry. "Is that true?" she mouthed, her voice choked, her head in his vice grip._

_"For your sake," Klaus murmured, "I hope it isn't."_

_In one swift movement, he pulled her lips to his, killing her urgently, hungrily, and with a passion Cami had never known herself, but one she recognized from Klaus: whenever he was about to lose his cool. Despite this, her hands broke free from her rigor of fear, and wound around Klaus’ neck and into his hair. He would stop sometimes, only briefly, to growl her name and whisper dark things. “Mine,” he would say, or even “Let me ravish you,” and Cami wasn’t even in the right mind to blush. Despite the fear for her life, the fear of facing death, she wanted to say yes, to scream it, her body on fire. If she was going to die, she thought, she would at least die doing something she had always wanted to do: sealing her fate on the lips of a monster._ Her _monster, she thought._

When Cami awoke that first night, after that first dream, she awoke in a sweat, paler than her usual pallor, with the sheets and blankets strewn on the floor, as if she had been thrashing. And maybe she had. Her hands were shaking, and even then, she dragged her fingers through her frazzled hair. “ _My_ monster?” she said aloud to herself, her own voice startling her. She wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed, large tears and deep screeches of fear, pain, frustration, and confusion. She had to let out the tears that started in the dream. After she let all of her tears run out, she lay back exhausted, and another feeling crept over her instead. A heat that glided slowly across her skin and warmed her from the bottom up, buzzing, sizzling. Before she realized it, her hands were on her breasts, softly caressing. She pulled herself out of this seductive reverie, cutting it short with the sudden return of her practical brain, and she shook it off. She couldn’t think about it… could she?

***

After that first night, the dreams were almost exactly the same. They all started the same way, with Cami walking into the compound, wearing the same lavish dress, with the same eerie waltz playing every time from invisible speakers. She would always get pulled into the dance, her body moving on its own every time, and Klaus would show up the same way, on the steps from the second floor, looking dashing but dangerous, lethal, and hungry. She would trip on her dress, and Klaus would appear before her, comment on her dress, and pull her close in a macabre waltz. It was after this that they would change, however. Sometimes they would dance without saying anything, until Klaus’ eyes would shift, his dark veins appearing, and he would take a bite out of her shoulder or neck. But whenever he bit her in these dreams, it was always slow, methodically, almost dainty, like Klaus was holding back the hungry beast inside for just a little longer. Other times, he would take off his tuxedo jacket, throwing it carelessly aside, so he could better mold Cami to his body and grasp at her bare back feverishly, sliding his fingers down and hooking them down past the seams of the dress, sending heat throughout Cami’s groin and chest, their kisses growing more and more desperate. The dreams would change, growing more and more sensual as the nights went on.

But his words never changed, either. Each time he would tell her about what Rebekah had said, and she would ask him if it was true, he always said “For your sake, I hope it isn’t.” But Cami’s reaction was the one that changed. After each passing night, and each trip down this dark, sexual rabbit hole, Cami’s fear of death and fear of Klaus would lessen. Instead, it gradually became a feeling of acceptance, of recognizing the monster in front of her, but forgetting to care. _My_ monster, she would think each time; it grew on her, gradually it had a nice ring to it. By the eighth night, Cami’s last thought in the dream was “ _My_ monster. Death is inevitable; it may as well be at the hands of Klaus.”

Despite her understanding of psychology, and despite her iron resolve and unrelenting self-control, the dreams were wearing her down. Her days were blurry and the nights were becoming all too vivid. She had the prickling fear that she was starting to _believe_ these thoughts from her dreams. And deep down, she knew that those dreams felt too real. All of it. _Every_ part. She had never felt desire like this, not even with Marcel, and she wasn’t sure she could keep up with it. These dreams, these feelings and thoughts; they were driving her madder than when Klaus was compelling her and she thought she was losing her mind. That was nothing; _this_ was losing her mind. To dreams, to desire, to the devil himself.

***

Vincent left the enchanted bar with a slight buzz and a not-so-slight feeling of guilt. That night, when he and Cami were trading psychoanalytic theories about each other’s lives, he had said “We’re going to need another bottle,” half joking, yet all too serious, and he poured them each a glass. But as he handed her the glass of dark liquor, he slipped in a dark, sparkling powder, and swirled the glass almost imperceptibly. Cami didn’t notice; she was too wrapped up in her feelings for Klaus. They continued their discussion, laughing like comrades, and then Vincent left after waving to little Hope, who was rocking in her chair, calm and peaceful. He said his goodbye and good luck to Cami, and ducked out of the bar.

The bar was spelled to prevent witchcraft from happening in its walls, but not from potions and mixtures of mind altering herbs. It just had to be in her system. After she left the building and someone came to ignite its affects, it all would begin. Vincent’s phone buzzed.

_Did you do it?_ It read.

With a sigh, he begrudgingly replied. _It’s done._

The response was immediate. _Good,_ it read, _It’s time to take down the Originals._

***

Despite everything she was feeling and the demons she was trying to chase from her mind, to no avail, Cami still had enough energy to worry about Davina and her new role as Regent of the New Orleans witches. Since the day after her first dream, she’d been talking with Davina and meeting with her in between classes and case studies. That first day, Davina had texted her, asking her to come to the Claire tomb; it was urgent. Pulling herself together, Cami cleaned up and found her way to Lafayette Cemetery 1 and into the creaking tomb.

Davina’s brow was furrowed in concentration over some herbs and spices. Then she turned her gaze to Camille, her face turning to one of concern.

“Cami,” she said, disbelief saturating her voice, “what happened?”

Cami shook her head. “It’s nothing, Davina,” she sighed, “Nothing you have to worry about. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

Davina shook out her hair and clasped Cami’s hands in her own. “I always have time for a friend,” she said, “I don’t have that many, you know.”

Cami laughed half-heartedly, squeezing her eyes shut and then opening them again. “Look, I just had this strange dream, alright? It’s kind of… just driving me crazy. I know it sounds weird.”

Davina disagreed. “It’s not weird at all. It sounds… kind of witchy, to be honest.” She turned away, towards her spices again, and found a packet of spices she had premade. She put them into a goblet with some water and another little liquid bottle Cami couldn’t place, stirred it, whispered a few incantations over it, and then put the goblet in Cami’s hands.

“Here,” Davina said, sincerity dripping from her voice, “This will help. Trust me.”

Cami’s brows furrowed as she stared into the goblet. “Are you sure, Davina?”

Davina lightly pushed the goblet firmer into Cami’s grip. “Positive. What’s the good of being Regent if I can’t help one of my friends when they’re in need?” She gave a small smile.

Defeated, and all too desperate for help, Cami nodded and downed the terrible tasting concoction in one sip.

“I really hope this works for me,” Cami said softly, running a hand through her hair and pulling her denim jacket closer around her. “And doesn’t become some sort of backfire way of making me feel worse.” She was only half joking

“For your sake,” Davina said, smiling, laughing a little bit, trying to reassure her, “I hope it isn’t.”

Cami whipped her head around, staring at Davina and her lips, wondering if she heard right. That’s exactly what Klaus had said. Davina looked confused, and more concern flashed across her face.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, clasping Cami on the shoulder.

Cami closed her eyes for a moment and reopened them, knowing it was just coincidence.

“Everything’s fine,” Cami said, heading towards the door, “Still just kind of frazzled, that’s all.”

Cami pushed on the handle and let the heavy door creak as she let in the afternoon sun, and then shut it firmly behind her. Davina listened as her footsteps grew farther away, until it was silent again. She let out a breath and pulled out her phone.

_The spell’s complete_ she typed, _Keep an eye on her_

Vincent’s name popped up on the screen. He replied immediately. _What does this mean?_ He asked.

_That you need to watch her,_ Davina typed back, _It’s Klaus we’re trying to get to. She doesn’t have to die too._

 


	2. The Castle Has Been Breached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER, TOWARDS THE END  
> Davina's scheming in taking down Klaus comes to a whole new level. Niceties have gone out the window, Cami is thrown into the crossfire, as well as Marcel being unwittingly dragged into Davina's war with Klaus. Vincent has to take some drastic measures as the new "servant" of the Regent of New Orleans Witches, and finds himself questioning how he could get out of supernatural politics. Klaus is faced with the threat of a witch-dominated New Orleans, and after realizing he is unprepared, takes out his anger in violent- and deadly- ways. But the real question is- will Klaus realize his dreams have been hijacked? Or will it be too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how it happened, but there was a HUGE chunk missing from the beginning of this chapter. So i fixed it. Weird. Sorry for the inconvenience! (25. October)  
> ***  
> Hey! I know this isn't the **smut** chapter yet, but I wanted to make sure the mechanics of Davina's scheming, evil, yet pretty brilliant plot, were clear and identified. Consider this the beginning of "smut with a plot." Don't worry, the smut is coming.... I won't let you down! Leave any comments or suggestions if you'd like. I'm still really new at fanfic. Thank you!

Coming back from the enchanted bar in Algiers wasn’t a pleasant one for Vincent. Being the new Regent’s bitch was part of it. He rereads the text again. _Good. It’s time to take down the Originals._ Now, it’s not like Vincent had any real feelings for the bastards; they did hijack his body for nine months and dragged him into their lethal familial warfare. But he also wasn’t exactly ready to be on their radar again. Sure, Davina spelled him with her new Regent powers so that no one could hijack his body again, but being on the radar of the psychotic Originals was a death sentence he didn’t wish on anyone.

Eventually, Vincent made it back into the Quarter. He got off the Algiers ferry and was headed down to the tourist infested streets. In his pocket, he felt for the two vials to make sure they were still there: the empty one, whose contents he just used on Camille, and the full one, the one that would be meant for Klaus.

It was dark and Bourbon Street was in full swing when he walked through the cracked stone streets of the Quarter. In an hour or two, however, everyone would be too drunk to keep on going, Vincent noted, so he had to make this quick. Crowds made everything easier, especially when trying to escape from vampire territory. Dawn was only three hours away, and Vincent couldn’t fail in his mission. Getting pulled back into witch politics may have helped him escape from further body snatching, but it almost wasn’t worth it, considering all the demands and looming consequences Vincent had to deal with.

Finally, the Mikaelson compound was in front of him. He took a deep breath, shaking his head. Perhaps after this mission, this last step, he could leave town for a while. He smirked darkly. He knew it was a shot in the dark.

From the side entrance, Vincent noted three Mikaelson cronies in tuxes and aprons leaving for the night, one blonde woman and two men, one dark haired and the other bald. Vincent shut his eyes briefly, muttering an incantation. When he looked back, the three were still there, but he was able to tell the important thing: they were _human_ cronies; walking blood bags and servants all in one. This is what Vincent was hoping for.  From his jacket pocket, he pulled a water bottle and dumped the last vial’s contents into it, swishing it around. First the liquid turned a dark, sparkling black, then red, and then in a sudden moment swished and turned clear again. He screwed the lid back on, satisfied. Then, he stumbled forward from his hiding spot, making noise and a small commotion.

“Hey!” Vincent called out, laughing to himself loudly. “Hey there! Y’all know where that O’Briens place is? I’m thinkin’ I need another drink!”

The Mikaelson servants looked at each other silently and rolled their eyes. The woman spoke. “You’re going the wrong direction. It’s down two streets over,” her voice was sweet, but she was to the point and succinct. Probably compelled to know nothing about the Mikaelsons once she leaves the building. Smart, Vincent thought. He took in the girl quickly as he put on his drunk façade again. He stumbled forward a little, giggling to himself. She was young, with an innocent face glazed over from compulsion. Her hair was curled loosely and dyed a lighter blonde. Perfect. Everyone knows that Klaus feeds on his servers. Of all the servers in the place, Klaus goes for the youngest, prettiest women. If there’s any server that’s his favorite, it’ll be this one. She looks just close enough to Camille, he noted.

Vincent muttered under his breath again, and in a flash, the water bottle from his pocket ended up in the side pocket of dark haired male servers’ backpack. They didn’t notice; they were too worried about the threat of a drunk guy in front of them.

Vincent tripped over his feet and landed near the woman. Disgusted, she gave him her hand to pull him up. The quicker she got rid of a drunk guy, the better chance she had at getting home without the vampire cronies getting wind of a disturbance and taking it out on her.

Vincent smiled and said a slurred “thank you,” and grabbed her hand. At their contact, Vincent shut his eyes and willed his magic into her. She dropped his hands and fell to her knees, coughing violently, making her face turn red and her pretty little eyes water.

“Oh my God!” Vincent called out in horror. “She’s choking or something, man!”

The two men rushed to her side, patting her on the back and asking what the matter was.

“Hey, man,” Vincent said in a shaky voice. “You got a water bottle, right? Maybe she needs something to drink.” He pointed to the backpack. The dark haired man looked confused, but then Vincent shut his eyes, whispering, and made the coughing more prominent.

“She’s dyin’, man, help her out!” Vincent shouted, adding to the sense of panic.

The bald man, in a frustrated huff, grabbed the water bottle from the other man’s backpack and handed it to the woman. In a gulp, she downed the whole thing and threw the empty bottle aside. She took a few deep breaths, composed herself, and stood up again with the help of the two men.

“Oh man,” Vincent said, his eyes wide, “I’m glad you’re okay, lady. That was scary!”

She sighed. “Just get out of here.” And with that, all three servers started to walk away, and Vincent finished his drunken tirade and stumbled down the street and around the corner, out of sight. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand.

 _Part two complete_ , Vincent typed in a text to Davina, _hope you’re right about the server lady._

After a moment, she texted back. _Good work,_ she said, _you’re done for the night._

He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and put his phone away. He took the two empty vials from his pocket and screamed, whipping both at the wall and watching the fragile glass shatter everywhere with loud, audible cracks. After that, he sped away, wishing, praying for a way to get out of these supernatural politics. First he was thrown into the mix as a vessel-lackey for the Original family, and now the errand boy for the Regent of Witches. It felt like it’d never end.

***

Davina was sitting in the Claire tomb again, reading through a stack of the New Orleans witches’ grimoires. Her phone buzzed. It was Vincent. Davina smirked. _Good work, you’re done for the night,_ she typed back. She set the grimoire back down on the side table with a satisfied thump, and dialed a number.

“Marcel,” she said firmly. “I need your help.”

“Davina,” he answered, surprised, “Is everything okay?”

“It will be,” she bit out, “I need you to set up a meeting with Klaus. Tomorrow for lunch. He and I need to have a chat.”

***

At noon, Davina met Marcel at the front of the Compound. Marcel was leaning against the wall, but when he saw her walking up, he straightened immediately and headed towards her. Forever the worried parent, Davina thought. He put his hands on her shoulders and searched her face for answers.

“What are you going to do?” he asked finally, knowing her too well. “And why do you need me?”

She pulled him into a hug, so she could whisper into his ear. She knew there had to be other vampire lackeys around listening. “Because he’s not going to expect you at all,” she breathed, “I have a vial in my pocket. After lunch, when Klaus wants his bourbon, pour it into his drink.”

Marcel whispered back. “I don’t think I can do that,” he responded.

Davina was adamant, and pulled him closer again. “It won’t hurt him. It’s just a little dream potion. I’ve got to plant an idea in his head, make him think it was his own. Please, just do this for me, and then you’ll be out of it.”

As she pulled away, she slipped the vial into his leather jacket pocket and stared into his eyes. “You care about me, don’t you? Do this. Please,” she said, her eyes glistening. How could Marcel say no to it? It’s not like Klaus is his favorite person or anything. He nodded once, and put a smile on his face as the gates opened before them. He held his arms wide.

“Klaus!” he shouted, laughing. “Let’s not start a war here. Davina just wants to talk.”

Klaus stood in front of them, wearing jeans, an oxford shirt and a suit jacket, with his arms clasped behind his back. Casual, but he knows this is a business meeting, Davina noted. Good. She wasn’t to be messed with. His eyes moved over them skeptically, calculating, wondering what Davina could possibly want to say to him civilly.

“Please,” he said, smirking, holding his arm out to let them past. “Come in.”

He led them upstairs to his elaborate and emaculate dining room. Probably where all his evil scheming is done, Davina thought to herself. As expected, there was a nice spread of food and drink on the table, with servers standing by. Davina noted that the little blonde one, the one she’d hoped for, was standing near the head of the table at Klaus’ seat. A male server was behind her at the other end of the table and pushed her chair in for her. Klaus took his spot at the other end, looking like a king in a throne, of course, and pulled his goblet towards him. He motioned for the blonde server to come forward.

She stepped forward with a blank expression, pulled out a small knife from her apron pocket, and bled into the goblet until it was full.

Klaus picked up the goblet and raised it in a toast.

“So, _Davina_ ,” he said, drawing out the syllables of her name for dramatic flair, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Davina raised her water glass in a similar fashion, then took a sip, hoping Klaus would follow suit. He didn’t; he was waiting for her answer. The ever-untrusting King, Davina thought to herself.

“Quite frankly, Klaus, I would have thought you’d heard,” she said, nonchalant. “I’m here to inform you of my new status. I thought you’d want to be prepared.” She raised her eyebrows at him and pursed her lips, showing that she wasn’t playing around.

Klaus brought the goblet to his lips and sipped, setting the goblet back down. He smirked at her and wagged his eyebrows. Davina hated that smirk. She wanted to blast it off of him.

“My dear,” he sighed, condescension dripping from his voice, “that’s right. I’m meeting with the new _Regent_ of the New Orleans witches, now, aren’t I?”

“Indeed,” she said, jutting out her jaw. She took another long swig of her drink. “Consider this a courtesy call.”

Klaus took a long drink from his goblet and made a confused face. He put down the glass, snapped his fingers, and the little blonde jumped forward. Klaus stared at her deep in her eyes.

“Have you been eating differently lately? New change in diet, drink perhaps?” He asked softly.

She answered immediately. “No, sir.”

Satisfied that she was telling the truth, Klaus waved her away, but put his drink aside. Davina cursed inside, but hoped that he had drunk enough of the blood. Marcel, seated to her right, looked at her curiously. He knew something was going on, but he couldn’t place what. He put on his poker face in any case.

Davina cleared her throat. “As Regent, I have a few things planned.” She looked at him darkly, and crossed her arms.

“You see, my first act as Regent was to bring back Kol,” she went on, staring at Klaus with no remorse. “But you know how well that went.”

Klaus shook his head and shrugged. “Well if you ask me, that doesn’t have anything to do with your abilities, love,” he chided, “or lack thereof. You know how I operate.”

Davina glowered. “I had everything ready; everything planned to bring Kol back. And you took that from me. How dare you?” She stood, hands clenched at her sides.

Marcel interjected. “Davina. Civil, remember?” he reached towards her, but she pulled away.

Klaus sat at still, with his legs crossed, and he inspected his finger nails, not at all concerned.

“ _Davina_ ,” Klaus said, enunciating every syllable of her name again, chiding her like a small child, “You of all people know there are ways around every rule, every obstacle.”

She crossed her arms. “And?”

Klaus looked up. “And you know my mother’s grimoire has _many_ of the Original witch’s spells in it, of course. If you recall, you raised Mikael with it.”

Davina shook her head in disbelief. “Kol’s been dead _how_ long, and you’re just _now_ mentioning Esther’s grimoire?”

Klaus shrugged. “You _are_ the all-powerful _Regent_ , now, I thought you resourceful enough.”

Her face filled with rage, and all of the glassware on the table burst and shattered in one fell swoop. Marcel jumped back from the table, catching glass in his face. Klaus stayed put, and merely began plucking shards of glass from his hands and neck.

Klaus clucked his tongue in disapproval. “That truly was unnecessary,” he muttered. “Marcellus, are you alright?”

Marcel picked himself up off the floor and pulled the glass from his skin with a sigh. “If this is how this conversation is going to go,” he said, “I’m going to need a drink.” Marcel turned to look at Davina with a knowing glare. The sooner this was done, Marcel thought, the better.

“What a grand idea, Marcellus,” Klaus said, “as long as Ms. Davina will allow us to use glassware.”

Marcel threw Davina a look. She had to behave herself for Marcel to do the task she set out for him. They all got up and headed for the drawing room. The servers began cleaning up all the glass.

Marcel headed straight for the tray of bourbon. “Which one would you like? The Good Stuff, or the decent stuff?” He smiled a little.

“The Good Stuff, Marcellus, I taught you better than that,” Klaus smiled. “Make it three fingers.”

Davina took a seat on the sofa in a huff, and Klaus in his pristine arm chair.

“So, you give me the grimoire, and you’ll want something in return, I assume,” Davina began, baiting him.

Klaus laughed. “Not the _whole_ grimoire, love; I don’t have a death wish.” Marcel came with the glasses and handed him one. He then took a seat next to Davina, squeezing her hand. He did what she instructed him to do.

“There are a few spells I’m thinking of,” Klaus went on, “That I am willing to bargain for.”

“Let me guess,” she said, a sarcastic bite in her voice, “you want me to put in a _good word_ with the covens now? You want in good with the Regent?”

“We all know that would be impossible, Davina, given our history,” Klaus replied, “Civil contempt, maybe, but never a good word. I’m not an impractical creature.”

Davina waited, staring at Klaus in his smug face. “As you know, the Crescent Wolves are cursed again; human only on the full moon.”

“Of course,” she said, “I heard you wanted some revenge on your baby-mama.”

Klaus curled his lip. “Yes, well, I want them to become wolves _permanently.”_

She laughed. “You want me to start a war with the wolves that I have no role in, that the witches have no role in? Are you crazy?”

Klaus brought his glass to his lips. “Everything comes with a price, sweetheart. My prices are steep.” He took a long swig of the glass, then threw it across the room.

“What did you do?” he roared, clutching his throat.

Marcel and Davina stood. “Nothing,” she said, “a bad batch, maybe?”

“No,” he croaked, “you put something in my drink, Marcellus. What was it?” Klaus got to his feet, his face contorting with dark yellow eyes and blackish veins. He grabbed Marcel by the throat.

“I made him do it,” Davina interjected, “I threatened his life.”

Klaus snarled at her. “What. Did. You. Do?” each word was a growl.

“It was just a test, Klaus. See, I’ve learned a few tricks,” she answered. She twisted her hand in the air, and Klaus’ insides began to churn violently. He released Marcel from his grasp in agony. Marcel flashed to Davina’s side.

“I wanted to see if I could slip a potion past you,” she went on, looking pointedly at the glass, “Kol turned me onto a new potion that works like vervain or wolfsbane. Tailored specifically for you. You know, just in case our Klaus weapon didn’t work.” Her face turned into one of disgust. “Guess I didn’t get my dosage right. Again.”

She turned to Marcel in a huff. “Fine. You did what you had to do for me. We’re good.” Marcel glared at her, then flashed away. She turned back to Klaus.

“Let’s try this again, Klaus,” Davina said, confidence radiating from her face as Klaus still panted on the floor. “I’ll stop my work on this new concoction; I’ll hand you the spell from my grimoire, even let you burn it in front of my face.” Klaus’ eyes narrowed, but she continued. “And you give me the resurrection spell from Esther’s grimoire to me. Do we have a deal?”

Klaus snorted. “A deal, after you tried to poison me? Who do you think you-”

Davina twisted her hand again, twisting Klaus’ insides with it, and whipping him across the room. His screams did nothing but make her twist her hand more with intense concentration. Davina finally clenched her hand into a fist, and blood started to spurt from his mouth.

“ _Do we have a deal?”_ she screeched, letting go of her fist as she finished her statement.

Klaus collapsed onto the floor, curled up in a ball, defeated, like Davina had never seen before. He wiped at his mouth, shuddered one last time, before getting up to stand. His face spelled pain, like he was trying to hold back everything in him from falling apart.

“You have your pathetic deal,” he muttered, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “After we’re through,” he growled, “But this isn’t over, mark my words, little _witch_.”

Davina laughed darkly. “I didn’t think it was. I just had to prove a point.”

She waved her hand, opening all the doors and windows in the room, then strutted out. Klaus heard her footfalls as she passed through the hallways, and even when her feet hit the stones in the courtyard. He heard crashes and bangs, followed by grunts and moans, meaning that Davina was proving her point yet again by throwing around his security detail like ragdolls. Finally, he heard the front iron gates swing shut, followed by a most uncomfortable, unsettling silence that flew him into a rage.

Klaus’ face contorted with his wolfish eyes and his fangs lengthened fully, leading him to bite his own lips, but he barely even noticed. He flung every table, every sofa, and every plush chair across the room, then flung the liquor tray and glass side table it was sitting on, out the window. With each item, an inhuman, demonic roar escaped from his throat. He took the glass canister of bourbon and whipped it into the fireplace, setting the flames to a high blaze that licked at the edges of the stones trying to contain them.

Once every item in the room as thrown and destroyed, Klaus released one last strangled, animal scream, before calling for the servants. The little blonde woman, the dark haired man and the bald man appeared before him with apprehension.

In one swift movement, he took the blonde girl, snapped her neck, and tore her head clean off, throwing it into the fire. He sniffed at her blood staining his hands, and reeled in disgust. There was something foreign in her blood; witchcraft and its herbs, but he couldn’t place them. The one thing he could place was the grave mistake he’d made: he’d been played. _Played by a teenage witch_. In his enflamed rage, he grabbed the dark haired man, burying his face into his neck, ripping and drinking until the man quit struggling, and until his blood was gone. The front of Klaus’ shirt was soaked from shoulder to waist in blood.

He grabbed the bald servant, the fire light gleaming from the shiny skin of his head, as Klaus ripped his throat out and devoured him, leaving every vessel, every vein dry.

He dropped the last body in a pile with the others, his eyes growing even more yellow, his dark veins more and more pronounced. All that fresh, untainted blood was flowing through him, healing everything that Davina had done to him. Slower than usual, but healing nonetheless. His clothes were darkened and damp with blood, and the flames from the fireplace needed to be contained, quickly, before they reached the hardwood floors.

Klaus snapped his fingers, and his vampire guards, four of them, appeared in front of him. They took one look at his face, and took several steps back. A blonde, crew-cut vampire hesitantly took a step forward towards him. “You called, sir?” his voice was low, hoping to be nonthreatening to the King.

“Clean up this mess,” Klaus said through gritted teeth, “And do it fast.”

Stepping over blood puddles, stray body parts, and broken pieces of wood, he strolled out of the room, down the steps, to the first floor. After that, the four vampires heard nothing, and began cleaning up one of the more gruesome messes they’d seen in a while.


	3. Sweet Dreams, Klaus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus becomes plagued in his dreams by a foe he thought he would never see again; He begins to wonder what might become of his relationship with Camille if they were to continue on together, but it takes a dark turn. Will the King of New Orleans let his subconscious get the better of him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post and a shorter chapter; I was trying to figure out where this was going to go. I think I've figured it out.

After cleaning off the blood that seeped through his clothes and stained his skin, and after setting fire to every article of clothing he had been wearing, Klaus retired upstairs. He had drunk two more of the employees; a dish washer and a laundry woman, feeling more like himself again.

He walked into Hope’s nursery, still furious, hoping that a plan would start to form in his dreams, a way he could destroy Davina and the witches. Eradicating them, their bloodlines, and everything they ever loved seemed like the way to go. But Klaus wasn’t one to rush in these plans of methodical revenge. He needed to recuperate, he needed to regroup, and he needed leverage. But none of that could happen when he was still emotionally drained by Davina’s sickeningly brilliant attack.

He held Hope in the rocking chair, and noticed her obliviousness to everything that had gone on. In her world, her father was there to hold her and lull her to sleep every night, she had a team of nannies to tend to her every need, and she never had to feel unsafe. Klaus wanted to keep it that way. He shoved all his rage, scheming, and even the wolf inside him, back down into himself, in order to enjoy his daughter before him. The daughter that was safe from his psychotic Aunt, from witches for now, and from the influence of her wolf mother and that traitorous pack. For now, all was safe for her. For now, he could rock her to sleep, hum a tune, and listen to her little heart beat.

“Hope,” Klaus whispered, “Daddy loves you, you know that, right?”

She looked up at him with those wide, naïve eyes. Wonder, love, calmness. He wanted her to forever look at him like that.

Hope started to close her eyes, growing comfortable on his lap, and clutching his shirt in her tiny fingers. Her breathing slowed, and before Klaus knew it, the child was sound asleep. He savored the moment for a little longer, then put her down in her crib, fit for a princess, of course, closed the door, and went to bed himself.

Pulling the satin sheet up on the bed, he crossed his hands across his chest, and relaxed. His army of vampires surrounded the compound, Hope was peaceful and asleep, and now he had time to think. To rest, to think, to prepare. That’s all he could do for now.

***

When Klaus dreams, he usually dreams of the past. So many decades, times, countries, and cultures have been his setting; why dream when you have everything you ever wanted? It was just a matter of which time, setting, and people his brain picked up from the archives of his mind for any given night.

After Klaus closed his eyes, he felt the familiar pull of sleep, of the unconscious mind. It first feels like he is pulled through a tunnel, and then suddenly his feet land on solid ground. Tonight’s dream was no different.

His mind placed his dream in a glorious time; 1920s Chicago, where Stefan, Rebekah and Klaus lived a luxurious, blood filled, Prohibition-be-damned heyday in the best speakeasies the Windy City could offer.

The night was in full swing, with a full band, a fabulous jazz singer and trumpet player who looked suspiciously like a young Louis Armstrong, and the lights were dimmed just enough to give a seductive, light allure on the crowded dance floor. Glassware was clinking, laughter permeated the joint, and servers passed with trays that featured alternating drinks: champagne flutes with blood, and tumblers of whiskey. As Klaus looked towards the corners of the place, he saw the familiar sights of vampires indulging on forbidden liquor and forbidden flesh. Prohibition only made the hunt better, the excitement higher, and the predator more eager for the hunt.

In one of the back booths, Klaus saw Rebekah and Stefan, indulging on the neck of a dancer that had wandered too far from the stage. Klaus smirked. For once, both Rebekah and Stefan, in this dream reflecting on a memory, didn’t hate him; it was a glorious time. Stefan removed his fangs with a gasp, and wiped his face with one of the dancer’s gloves she had thrown off. He shook out his elaborate hairdo, and waved to Klaus.

“Hey, Nik,” he said, grinning wickedly, “I saved you some. Or, I could fetch you another.” His eyes flitted to the stage, where a crew of dancers in short skirts and glitter walked onto the stage in time to the beat. Klaus opened his mouth in a fang-filled grin, and winked at Stefan. In return, Stefan winked back, and returned to his dancer with Rebekah.

Rebekah was back to her Original body in this dream, just like she was in the real 1920s. Her blond locks were short and tucked into little curls, and she wore the most glamorous flapper outfit of all the ladies in the place. Klaus knew this, because he bought it for her. Only the best for his sister, of course. She sat back and wiped her mouth with Stefan’s handkerchief and smiled at Klaus with a pointed grin. She was warning him in her silent way not to cause a complete catastrophe in their favorite  speakeasy. Klaus waved her off.

The young Louis-Armstrong-looking musician went on to a startlingly eerie ballad, his voice backed by just the brass instruments. It was slower paced, and the couples started to sway, smashed closer together than even before. The vampires from the walls started to drop their previous prey and move to the dancefloor. Their Compulsion brought in different, impressionable girls into their grasp, and the girls and their suitors swayed seductively together, entwined, as the vampires brought their necks up to their lips and created a sinful, underworld-ly atmosphere, in time with the music.

Looking for prey of his own, Klaus looked around, but was drawn to a woman at a nearby table, her face shrouded in her mesh hat, her lips stained a dark red, and she smoked a long cigarette, blowing small smoke rings around her face, hiding it more. This intrigued Klaus more than he thought it would. All his conscious memories of 1920s Chicago involved a string of impressionable, naïve girls who willingly gave their blood to him; never a woman like this. Suddenly, her eyes caught the light, and they flickered the telltale hybrid yellow. He took a step back, and watched as she stood up and tipped her long cigarette to the side, pointing to the backdoor of the place. Just as she did that, a waiter walked by with his large tray in hand, blocking Klaus’ view. When he looked back, she was gone. When he honed his sight, his eyes concentrated slits, he say the curtains at the far back entrance swinging shut.

Klaus grabbed a champagne glass from the nearest waiter and downed it in a single gulp. Just as he set it down on his glass, the Louis Armstrong man finished his ballad, and all eyes on him, as he thanked the crowd.

“Thank you, ladies and gents,” he said, smiling, “And now, I have the pleasure of introducing a fabulous new violinist…”

As he finished that last word, a man shrouded by shadows started to play a haunting violin, and was backed by a classical pianist. This hardly seems the place and time for classical, Klaus thought in passing, as he started for the back curtains. The music turned into a daring and devilish waltz that made Klaus pause. He felt a strange fuzziness come over him, and shook it off as best he could, when he pushed open the velvet curtains and went out into the warm Chicago night air.

Surprisingly, even outside, he could hear and feel the waltz just as he did inside. It seemed to be amplified by the bricks of the building, by the shine of the cars parked out back. It was too loud, too crisp; but then again, Klaus reckoned, this was a dream after all.

He shifted his gaze out to the street, one that was usually bustling in the Windy City streets, but given the time of night, it made sense. The sewer grates in the road gave off plumes of steam, giving the night air an eerie glow. The moon above was full, and Klaus felt his heartbeat grow faster, his blood pump wildly, in tune with the now blaring waltz. Even a hybrid, who controls when they turn, feels the strength and intense pull of the moon. The wolf inside of him sang off key with a howl, and willed for Klaus to let him out, but Klaus pushed it down.

He strode out onto the street, where he caught a glimpse of the woman he followed; she was dressed in black, but the red of her lips stood out against the dark, dense landscape of the empty street. Her cigarette was still lit, and she turned her back to him as soon as he saw her. Her low heels tapped to the beat of the waltz.

“Who are you?” Klaus demanded, his voice low and dangerous. He raised his voice just loud enough over the sound of the strings and the piano, making sure he could be heard.

The woman finally turned around, but her face was still hidden by the mesh from her hat. “I’m providing a warning, Niklaus,” she said. Her voice was too deep; too much condescension in her voice, too much confidence. It was a voice that Klaus would never be able to forget. It was his infamously insane, almost-as-diabolical-as-he, Aunt.

“Dahlia,” he breathed, his eyes widening against his will.

She started to head towards the nearest corner to a dank alleyway. Klaus charged after her.

“What could you possibly still want from me? You’re _dead_ , I made sure of it!” he bellowed.

From the shadows, she pulled a beautiful girl, with beautiful loose curls, and a dark blue satin dress that definitely wasn’t from the 20s. It was long, but as Dahlia turned her around, he saw that the back was open, dipping down all the way to the end of her back. Dahlia shook her, and then pulled her against her by the neck. It was Camille. Her doe eyes stared at him blankly, clouded, like she was drugged. By magic. Her pink lips quivered.

“Camille,” he stated, growing furious. “What business do you have with her?” He went to reach for her, but Dahlia’s eyes grew dark, and she twisted her hand with talon-like fingertips, and sent a gong off in his brain, keeping him down in agony.

“Your business is my business, of course,” she murmured disturbingly. “Did you think I wouldn’t leave one last gift for my favorite nephew?”

Klaus’s temple throbbed with fury, and his jaw twitched, his fangs threatening to lengthen for a fight. His piercing eyes never left Dahlia’s.

Camille gasped, and a sickening, crunching noise was heard. The front of her beautiful gown started to soak through the middle with her blood. Dahlia threw her to the floor, and revealed the white oak stake in her hand.

“You have two choices, Niklaus,” she said, tracing her finger along the tip of the stake to collect the blood, then put it in her mouth. “You turn her into the thing she fears most,” she said, singsong like, her eyes going dark and fangs lengthening for emphasis, “Or you drink her blood. Drink her dry as she dies here on the pavement.”

Klaus sunk to the pavement next to Camille, trying to hold her abdomen as it bled, her eyes glistening with unforgiveable tears. Klaus looked up to find Dahlia muttering in an archaeic, witches’ tongue with her eyes closed, her hands slowly raising in the air. He felt his insides burn, his veins felt like they were trying up, like he hadn’t fed for days, weeks, months…. _Years_.

Klaus began to cough violently, his eyes turning gold and the dark veins around his eyes throbbing of their own free will. His fangs shot out and he couldn’t retract them; the bloodlust was too much. Suddenly, he could hear Camille’s every weak heartbeat, hear every surge of blood flowing out of the hole in her stomach, dripping ever so quickly onto the dank pavement. Her eyes began to flutter, as she was beginning to lose consciousness, but Klaus could barely notice that with the overload of his senses; the coppery, beautiful smell of blood was beginning to destroy him.

“Klaus,” she croaked, her eyes glistening with tears. “Am I going to die?”

Klaus attempted to hold himself back, to hide his face from her doe eyes as she was dying. His control was racing away from him, and his animalistic, sadistic side rolled over him.

“ _I haven’t decided yet_ ,” he suddenly blurted with a snarl. He lunged for her, landed on top of her body and sunk his fangs into the tender flesh of her neck. The sounds of snapping, slurping, and canine growls echoed off of the tall brick buildings around them. Klaus, who embraced and loved his vampire and wolf natures, thought that blood had never tasted so good as it did now, straight from the vein of this beautiful woman.

He stopped to take a deep breath and Dahlia stared at him with satisfaction.

“Go on then, Niklaus,” she murmured darkly, “you kill her,” she cocked her head to the side, then back again with a smoldering glare, “or you turn her.”

Klaus kneeled next to Camille’s quickly fading body, his hands spread at his sides, blood dripping from his mouth to soak his shirt, and his breaths were ragged. He was fighting with the forces of his own nature; his bloodlust, his need for the kill, and sexual lust, and, though he could barely bring himself to even think it, _love._

“Kill her,” his retched aunt’s voice called out again, “Or turn her.”

He let out an inhuman, supernaturally charged roar of frustration; his yellow eyes bulging out of his head, and his fingernails threatening to expose claws. The sound vibrated between the buildings’ walls, up into the hazy full moon sky, and into the stars. But there was no consolation. Klaus himself wasn’t sure who was going to win this battle; Klaus, or the true monster inside.

***

Before any decision was made or any violence inflicted, Klaus was thrown from the dream and into his bed in New Orleans, in the present day. He was drenched with sweat and he found that his fangs had bit into his bottom lip as he slept, causing small blood dribbles to form on his chin. He launched out of bed to look in the mirror and found himself ashen, his hair astray and his eyes darker than usual. He disgusted himself; this wasn’t a powerful look, or a healthy look. He looked weak; he looked like a failure, he thought. He smashed his fist in the mirror and called for a servant to come in. A tall, slender brunette young woman came to his aid. Perfect. He snatched her, tore into her neck, and slurped more clumsily than usual. A _dream_ was bothering him, dammit, not the King of New Orleans.

As he drank, he couldn’t help but feel the sense of de ja vu; the feelings of the dream coming back to haunt him.

Camille's liquid eyes stared at him with a mixture of fear, defiance, apprehension, and shock as he drank from the servant. He felt her blond curls brush his face instead of the brunette's in front of him. He smelled her sweet, subtle perfume and heard her whisper in his ear. _"Am I going to die, Klaus?"_

_Kill her, or turn her._


	4. Karma's a Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus is trying to deal with his conflicting feelings for Cami as well as the ideas raised by his insane dream. After meeting with Marcel, Klaus realizes that Davina is up to something that could cause a serious disturbance to his home life, among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short! Been busy lately. I just wanted to finally get a few ideas down so that the plot thickens a bit. More will come soon!

Klaus wiped at his mouth with a fluffy washcloth and threw it in a hamper. The laundry woman was used to dealing with blood stains. Or, at least, the _former_ laundry woman dealt with it. A new one had to have replaced her after last night’s blood binge.

He splashed water on his face at the sink, looking at the mirror. He looked better than before, a little more back to strength but not completely. The bags under his eyes had only lightened a bit, and they were still present. It sickened him. He had to deal with whatever was happening in his waking life with that _little witch_ Davina. Maybe that’s why the dreams started. What would Camille say, he thought. Probably analyse his psychotic dreams as a way of releasing or dealing with stress in the subconscious. Surely the reappearance of Dahlia, and as a hybrid, combined two of his worst fears and problems. The 20s were clearly a source of happiness and carefree frivolous partying that he thoroughly enjoyed. She’d have something interesting to say on that front, of course.

But, he mentally slapped himself, it wasn’t like he could tell her about the dream. He still could visualize Camille herself, standing there in that provocative, sensual gown with her doe eyes, wondering if she was going to live. Her quivering full lip, despite the intense horridness of the dream, had sent his blood boiling from something other than anger. He remembered that. And the thought had crossed his mind about what it would feel like to drink from her as he fucked her, feeling the endorphins and ecstasy in her blood as he fed, feeling her every shudder beneath his touch, both under his fangs and below.

Klaus felt himself smirk at this thought, but then shoved it back down. The horrid parts of the dram came back, and he couldn’t help but wonder, deep, deep down inside of him, if it was really true; if Camille would end up dead or turned, after it all.

From the recesses of his mind, Rebekah’s voice came back to haunt him. “Everything we love turns to ash,” her voice fuming, yet steeped in sorrow. Though he would never, ever admit it, he thought she was right on most counts. And he couldn’t bear to lose Camille to that same cycle.

He thought to his tactics of defeating Dahlia, and extracting his revenge on his siblings for siding with his _she-wolf_ of a baby mama. Klaus felt his blood pressure rise at the thought of Hayley taking his daughter, twisting his family’s heartstrings on her fingertips. The fools. “Always and forever,” of course, until a little wolf bats her eyelashes at Elijah and has a female heart-to-heart with the ever-simpering Rebekah, he thought.

On one hand, he reconciled, Elijah _deserved_ to have that vampire girl burned in front of him. After all, Klaus growled to himself, his older brother _literally_ stabbed him in the back and threw him in a coffin to have his daughter taken away from him. That in itself should have been enough justification.

Yet for some reason, he couldn’t fully believe that. Camille’s face popped into his mind, her blond brow furrowed in frustration, boring into his eyes and saying things like “respect,” “family,” and “trust issues,” and things about how he broke Elijah’s trust as well as his heart with two fatal blows: forcing the girl to burn in the sun, and condemning Hayley to a fate worse than death.

Without realizing what he was doing, Klaus pushed his fist through the mirror in a fit of pent up rage. A little human woman was telling him how he was wrong and how to live his life. If she were anyone else he would have ended her a long time ago. She would have been dead, gone, buried, and out of his way before any of her nonsense therapist advice could have gotten into his head. Perhaps that was his problem. Perhaps either killing her or turning her would end all of her advice and high-and-mighty ideals that now seemed to plague him at the worst possible moments.

But what was holding him back, he thought, what was it really? He thought of all the women that had ever had a place in his life, especially in recent times; his mother, Rebekah, Katerina, Elena, his mental paramour Caroline, and now Camille. What did they all have in common, other than him needing them for some spell or something like that? What did they all have in common if you take away Klaus’ need for manipulation?

It was _power_. Confidence. Strong willed, pigheaded, stubborn, but secretly, of _course_ he knew, admirable in their causes. Well, except for his mother of course. She was an evil bitch.

There was that. There was a brilliance, and a baffling stupidity, in the way that Camille stands up to him and dissects his brain, Klaus thought. A creature so old, so powerful, manipulative and devious, and can’t truly be killed (by most, anyway), and this little, seemingly insignificant girl was going to tell him like it was. And, Klaus begrudgingly accepted, a respect for her bravery, and for her advice, and help with his child.

But after all that, he couldn’t help but realize that the attraction was there. He knew it, she admitted it, he sort of admitted it, but nothing that he can truly act on. Could the incorruptible, righteous, noble Camille withstand Klaus in his truest, rawest forms?

Klaus wiped the stray blood stains from his now-healed hands in the sink, and went downstairs. Enough of this emotional, whiney nonsense. On to his mission to take down that incessant witch.

***

The journey to Algiers didn’t take as long as Klaus thought. With his immaculate black Range Rover, navigating and steering people out of his way was relatively easy. As he neared the newly-inhabited, abandoned-warehouse-turned-headquarters building that served as Marcel’s new (but slightly pathetic, Klaus sighed) station, Marcel’s vampire fools let him through. They knew by now not to mess with the King. And, Klaus noted, Marcel had to have known he’d come for him after last night’s disaster.

He parked his car right up to the front of the building and strolled inside. A few guards opened the door silently, bowing their heads away from him, and got out of his way. Just the way he liked those vamps to treat him.

“Marcellus,” Klaus called out jovially. “I believe we have a few things to discuss.”

He sauntered into Marcel’s sitting room to find him sitting on the sofa with a drink in hand, listening to a jazz record on a jumping, scratching old record player. His eyes were dark, far away, and he circled his drink in his hand absentmindedly.

Klaus soared over to him, gripping him by the throat, tearing him from the sofa and pinning him against the wall. His tumbler clattered and shattered on the floor, but the jazz continued on whirring on its turntable. A few of Marcel’s crew came rushing into the room, but just stood there glowering at Klaus. They knew they were no match for him.

“I thought you’d’ve learned not to betray me, Marcellus,” Klaus seethed, slamming Marcel’s head against the wall. “By this point I’d of considered you smarter than this.”

Marcel gasped for breaths, but Klaus wanted to make him suffer a bit longer. “You’ve always had a soft spot for the witch. But to side with her against _me_? Foolish at best.”

He let Marcel fall to the floor to catch his breath. “Go on,” Klaus whispered, waving his hand in the air. “Make your case.”

Marcel picked himself up off the floor and brushed off his clothes, then sent his minions away with a nod. He stood face to face with Klaus. “A rock and a hard place, Klaus,” Marcel sighed, “I’m a man of the people. _My_ people. You know that.”

Klaus began to circle him, his hands clasped behind his back, a shark circling a surfboard. Or, perhaps more appropriately, a wolf stalking a deer in the woods.

“The witches are up to something,” Marcel continued. “Something that doesn’t look too good for you, Klaus.”

“Brilliant, Marcellus,” Klaus gasped, mocking him, “I would have never guessed.”

Marcel waved him off. “No, you don’t understand. It doesn’t look good for _you._ For me and my vamps, it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Klaus gaped at him, a sneer in his eyes. “Ah, so the new little Regent is making promises and alliances with the locals then, eh?”

Marcel nodded. “New leadership, new era for the New Orleans witches,” he intoned, “And this era is looking militant.”

“So, what,” Klaus questioned, continuing his intimidating circle, “She made you a deal? What could she have promised you, that your little vampires would remain untouched; protected, perhaps, if you didn’t side with me?”

“Sounds about right,” he said, knowing that for the most part, it was the truth. He’d actually be sitting down with Davina later that night to discuss their agreement. She needed Marcel to bring something important to the meeting. But Klaus didn’t know that. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you can handle things on your own. Alone. No need for my people to get thrown into the crossfire,” he reasoned.

Klaus thought about this for a moment, continuing his walk, but then abruptly stopped. “Your promised indifference to the witches’ war doesn’t seem enough to me. You had to have given something in return, of course, otherwise the deal wouldn’t have been fair. Isn’t that right, Marcellus?” His voice turned vicious, his eyes narrowed and black with his anger.

Marcel looked away, looked down, then crossed his arms. “Sounds about right, too.”

Klaus suddenly appeared before him, staring into his eyes, his just inches away. “You’re on vervain again,” he stated, “So I’m going to ask you once. What did you give to her in return?”

Marcel said nothing, just glared back into Klaus’ face. Once again, Klaus gripped him by the throat and pushed him into the wall. The hybrid’s eyes changed into their putrid yellow, his fangs appearing, and his face contorted. In a tremendous roar combined with a yell, he erupted: “ _What did you give to her_?”

Marcel choked, then managed to spit out, “She wanted the Crescent Wolf curse,” in a croak. “That was it.”

Klaus snapped Marcel’s neck and threw him to the ground. He threw the record player against the wall, stopping the music, then stormed out into the hallway. As he approached, stomping, Marcel’s crew scattered in every direction away from him. He got into his Range Rover and sped away, his teeth gritted and his eyes ablaze with rage.

The Crescent Wolf Curse. Seems like Davina and the covens were looking for new allies, and new weapons, to use against him. Bringing back his fuming ex and her stupid husband, along with their ridiculous pack, was only going to cause him pain. And, frighteningly enough, Klaus wasn’t exactly sure what Davina was truly capable of. Could he turn the wolves into something more? It was always possible. But he still had time. True, he got Dahlia to learn the spell quickly, but it was going to take a little while longer for them to gather their strength and resources to complete it. But with all the covens together, time was running out. Fast.


	5. The Hybrid Curse Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davina's plan is revealed. Cami and Klaus succumb to their nightmares, changing their relationship forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the commenters before, thank you for your kind words and your encouragement. This last year has been crazy, good and bad, and my creative juices haven't been flowing. On top of that, our beloved Camille was killed off, so I wasn't exactly ready to keep writing this story due to sadness and anger! However, I needed to start writing again and I finally had some ideas for this story.
> 
> I know it's rushed, especially towards the end, but please forgive me. I needed to get SOMETHING down, and I had to get the ball rolling on this story again!!

Evening was starting to fall, and Klaus was physically back to normal, but not his mind. Far from it. How he could let a nightmare bother him, like Hope having a bad dream? However, if there was anything Klaus was good at, it was putting on a show, even if it was for himself. Seeing Dahlia in his dreams was one thing, but seeing her hurt Camille was another. But Dahlia was dead. And so are his Hybrids. 

Klaus carried out his day, and had a lovely meal with Hope and Elijah. They sat around their immaculate table, Elijah by Hope's side. Sure, Elijah could barely look at Klaus for what he did to Hayley, but Elijah wasn't going to fight him. Instead, he had a curt but uncomplicated meal, silent except for is murmurings to Hope. A nanny came for Hope after they finished.

Elijah stood abruptly. "I have some business to attend to."

Klaus furrowed his brow to look at him. "Anything you'd like to share?"

Elijah turned on his heel for the door. "Not presently," he stated with a sense of finality as he buttoned his suit jacket, adjusted his cuffs, and strode away. 

"That's going to take a while to fix," Klaus muttered to himself with a sigh. 

As soon as he stood, a flurry of servants clear the table and start to clean. Klaus heads to the bourbon cart and waits, as the table is once again clean and decked with a white table cloth, complete with two red bottles: one of blood and the other wine. 

He turns to the last servant. "Am I expecting company?"  
The girl blushes with embarrassment, and a little fear.

"You asked to have both bottles every time a friend came by. Is this not what you want, sir?" She starts to grab the bottles to scurry away. 

Before Klaus can speak, Camille rushes through the door in a huff. He nods to the servant in dismissal, and she breathes a sigh of relief as she goes.

"Klaus," Camille breathes, trying to catch her breath. "I... I need to talk to you."

It takes Klaus a moment to compose himself in her presence, to put up his facade. He has flashes of memory to the dream, to his steamy thoughts of earlier, but shakes them off only slightly.

"Dearest Camille," he said, "I-" He stops, taking in her appearance. She looked like her beautiful self, but with hints of desperation, exhaustion, and a dash of madness. "What has happened to you?"

***  
Marcel sits on the lounge in the Claire tomb. His eyes are closed, his mouth partially open. Davina stands beside him, chanting, lighting ndles and incense as she goes.

She stops for a moment, watching Marcel. He stays entranced, ready to comply. 

"Marcel, are you with me?" She asks softly.

"Yes," he replies, a dream-like drawl dragging his words.

She walks behind him, placing her hands on his temples. "I need you to go back in your memories. Think. Let your mind drift backwards to the Mikaelsons. Klaus."

His brow furrows slightly. "Yes."

Davina closes her eyes, searching through Marcel's brain. She sees flashes of pictures, snippets of sounds and voices. The visual equivalent to a flip book comic. 

"Klaus was looking for something in your memory once. Do you remember what it is?" Davina dictates.

Marcel winced as he reached the memory in question. Tied, drained of vervain, and searched internally.

"The Crescent Curse," he states, almost with a whimper. 

Davina digs her fingers into Marcel's skull, her nails start to draw blood. It starts to drip down Marcel's cheeks, but he doesn't notice. 

"That's right, the Cresent Wolf Curse," she repeats. 

The images flittering through Marcel's memories stop, honing in on Klaus and a hanging Marcel, being searched. She focuses on Marcel's face in the memory, Soon, she starts to see inside. The distant past, the curse of the wolves, the first witches to think of it. Latin incantati, symbols, and dark cloaks fill Davina's head.

Suddenly, Davina released Marcel's skull with a gasp. His head falls backwards, still entranced. Davina rushed to her table and pulled out a leather journal and started to scribble feverishly.   
***  
"I don't know what's happening to me, Klaus," Camille said with a shaky voice. "I can't think, I can't eat, and I especially can't sleep. Nothing stops it."

"Stops what?" Klaus asked, angered concern over his expression, his jaw clenched. "Who is doing this to you?" He grabbed Camille's arm, attempting to embrace her, but he is instead met with a jolt of simmering, lustful heat, one that ripped through his arm to his chest, and into his loins.

Camille jumped back with a gasp, feeling it to. Her breathing changed to a ragged, quickened pace. She crossed her arms across her chest, as if holding herself back. "Don't touch me!" She screeches. 

Klaus' eyes start to flash yellow and black, and he tries to shake it off, but can barely pull his teeth back into his mouth and keep his hands at his sides, let allow contort his face back to normal. 

"Davina!" Klaus seethes, and Camille barely notices. 

"Klaus," her voice shakes, "I-I can't stop..."

"I can't either!" He howls, trying desperately to hold back the wolf inside. 

"I can't stop thinking... Thinking about everything. Vampires, hybrids, blood-"

In a flash, Klaus has Camille in his arms. She embraces him back, eyes dilated with both lust and fear. 

"Blood," Klaus murmurs, rubbing his nose along her throat. Seized with a hurricane of twirling feelings, Camille can't move, she can do nothing but accept his embrace, clutching for dear life and hanging on with a magnetized grip. Heat crashes through her in waves, fear, adrenaline, lust, pure sex. 

"Am I going to die?" She whimpers into his ear, tears flooding her eyes. Her body betrays her, still glued to Klaus' body, molded to his curves.   
***   
Davina rushes out of the Claire tomb to the large mausoleum in the middle of the cemetery, the site of her Regent ceremony and about every witch ceremony and atrocity the New Orleans witches have ever committed. She passes inside, and lights the candles at the main alter.

"I call upon the ancestors for their guidance and power," Davina calls to the sky. A strong wind whips through the mausoleum. 

"I can finally rid Klaus Mikaelson from our city. I have the curse you have used on the Crescent wolves..." She continues. The flames on the candles grow higher and more intense. The ancestors are listening.

"I want to use it for Klaus Mikaelson."

She pulls out the leather journal and lays it beside her. Candles from around the room start to slide around her, and burst into flames. The whisperings of the ancestors can be heard, excited and eager. 

The journal lifts into the air and the pages start flipping. The pen flies out of Davina's hand and scribbles on the pages again. 

After a feverish moment, it flutters back into Davina's waiting hands.

In a slanted, cursive scrawl, the Crescent Curse is crossed out and replaced with "The Hybrid in Reverse."

Davina gasps as she fills with light. Power surges through her and sparks fly from her fingertips. After a breath, she starts to chant.

***  
"I haven't decided yet," Klaus roars, devouring her neck in kisses first, then scrapping his fangs across it.  
"Please, Klaus," Camile whines. It is a cross between plea and desire.  
Klaus straightened up suddenly, in his vampiric, flash-like fashion, but he never let go of her. He simply took her hand in his, placed her other on his shoulder, and they began to sway. One of his hands wound around her waist, and slowly, softly, with a fiery warmth that Cami had never felt before, pulled her closer until her breasts brushed the front of his dress shirt. As if in the distance there was a radio humming, Cami began to hear the whisperings of that song again. She looked up into Klaus' face for the first time, and she realized, with the dark sparkle in his eye and his pupils widening into black holes, that he was hearing those whispers too.

Klaus was overcome with his torturous wolf nature and the violent lust inside of him. But he recognized instantly the dark song from his dream. The dark stirrings of Dahlia and the other witches. 

Softly, slowly, heatedly, Klaus guided her across the hard wood floor. He glided, twirled her even, but as soon as Cami and her skirt were done turning gracefully, Klaus flicked his wrist and she flew straight back to him, hitting his body with hers, until she was so close that she could hear his heart, hear his breathing softly, up and down. But the smell of him... She wasn't sure what was going on. She was drawing a blank of words, all she could see or hear in her mind was a flame sparking. Klaus always wore nice cologne, which Cami always secretly appreciated, but this time, there was something different. Intoxication a different little voice whispered into Cami's head. This was a voice she had trained herself not to listen to; the dangerous one, the one that was always telling her to take irrational, dark risks that she never allowed herself to take. She thought this devilish little voice, one that sounded like her but wasn't her, was telling her things she had begged herself not to feel about Klaus.

He took notice of this strange, almost devilish look in her eye. He took his hand out of hers, then placed her fingers on his waist. He took his hand and softly brushed her cheek, his fingers scorching her skin, causing Cami to stifle the little shivers that had started to spark in her chest, in her belly, and lower. He traced his fingers down her cheek and jaw. He cupped his hand around her chin for a moment, and jerked her chin upward. Cami didn't object; she was so tantalized and dazed and aware all at the same time, waiting every breath to see what would happen next. 

He titled her chin up sharply, his fingers underneath it but he dragged his thumb down from her cupid's bow across her top, reddish lip, and slowly, agonizingly slow, pulled it down to her bottom lip and parted her lips slowly. Cami thought that he would kiss her, right then, like he never had before, but he didn't. He suddenly dropped his thumb, but he pushed her head upward and put his face up to her neck. Her vein, her main artery, was pulsing strongly there, in tune with her wild, irrational, irregularly stupid heart beat, completely enveloped with this strange, burning newness that she had never felt before. Klaus rubbed the tip of his nose once across her pulsing neck vein, and then he began to brush his lips against it. Cami started to breath raggedly. This feeling, his lips right there, her body pulled too close to him, almost smushed, but in the best place she could imagine. This was better than any of her insane, never talked about dreams in which Klaus would Ravish her.

Ravish.

At the word passing through her brain, shoe couldn't stop thinking about it. Ravish. Klaus. Klaus ravishing her. Her heartbeat quickened again. Klaus began kissing down her neck and throat, then at once, she now felt his tongue start moving with his lips. She felt her knees actually quake. Her face slumped onto his shoulder and in the crook of his neck, but that only added to the strange, intoxicating and savage scent that she couldn't identify. It was forced into her nostrils, into her mouth, and she felt any bits of control that were still present inside of her fading rapidly. 

Klaus seemed to notice this change in Cami, as her breaths quickened and started to sound like desperate sighs and moans. Cami tried to stop herself, but the dangerous little voice in her head took over, and her rational, everyday Cami-like brain was shoved into an irretrievable corner in the depths of her skull. 

Klaus opened his mouth and pressed his teeth against the hollow of her throat, and then slid up to her pulse point, where her blood was pumping wildly, madly, uncontrollably. 

"Klaus," Cami croaked again. It came out as a mixture of a moan and a whine. "Please"

Klaus let go of her suddenly and she almost fell to the ground. In one swift motion, Klaus sent plate and goblets flying off the table, and the two red bottles went rolling along the table, before tipping off the edge and falling to the ground with a crash that neither of them truly noticed. Cami found herself on top of the linen tablecloth on the table, and Klaus on top of her. His fingers were splayed out next ho her face and into her hair.His chest, abdomen, and belt buckle were digging into her flesh, but she didn't care. 

The heat of Klaus' lips, teeth, breath on her neck was almost unbearable. Cami's hands instinctively started to trail up Klaus' chest, across the silk of his dark dress shirt. Unable to control herself, her hands slipped to the edge of his shirt, and she pushed up behind it, touching hare flesh. Klaus shivered underneath her fingers, and she traced his muscles, his ribs, his nipples with her fingertips. Klaus shoved himself against her, his entire body molding to hers, forcing her to move her hands around to his back, until she was gripping onto the ridge of his spine. He moaned with an exasperated grunt and let go of his biting hold on her neck with a gasp. 

"I can’t take any more of this," he growled impatiently. Cami's hands slipped out of the back of his shirt. He took one look at the thin material of her top, and ripped it to pieces without a second thought.

The violin music was still playing in the background ,but this time, the somber hypnotic and haunting music shifted to something even darker. Something seductive, still dark, but with the undertones of a beast hunting its prey.

Klaus brought his mouth to the tops of her breasts, straining now against the thin fabric of her lace bra, one that barely covered anything. Her nipples began to harden, and her breaths were still irregular and hitching, each time Klaus suckled on her skin again. 

Klaus cupped both of her breasts with his hands, massaging up and down, then drawing his fingernails lightly down her ribcage. Cami cried out, arching her back and thrusting her body forward.She falls back down and tears at the buttons on Klaus' shirt until they are loose, and his shirt is over his head. 

He lands back down on top of her, kisses and dragging his tongue up from her breasts, across her throat, where he lingers for a beat to long, and then on her mouth. A "kiss" isn't a good enough word for the way they devour each other like there were the answers to the universe and the meaning of life between their lips, digging desperately for answers and opening the heated channels between them. 

***  
Davina pulls a bundle from her jacket pocket. She loosens the knot on the pouch to reveal some curled blond locks, and some short, dirty blond whisps. She closes the pouch again, satisfied, and continues the chanting to the ancestors. The flames on all the candles dance and swirl together, then form a flame barrier around Davina. 

***  
Klaus' hands travel down Camille's jeans, reaching desperately for her fiery core as the bulge in his pants can barely be contained. 

Camille lets out a gasp and moan, her face contorted with pleasure and a shock of heat.

"Klaus!" She shouts, as he rips her jeans off of her body, leaving her bare, exposed, and open to his touch. 

She pushes his arms away so she can get to his belt. Her hands slip and shake as she is overcome with emotions she can't comprehend, let alone control. Her arms, her body and her mind were doing what they wished, whether or not she had a say in it. He let her do the work as he grabbed her face between his hands and opened her mouth with his tongue.   
***   
After one final cry in Latin, Davina's eyes cry tears of red, and the flames soar towards the sky once more before they fall back down to the earth and extinguish. Every flame extinguished itself at once, and Davina collapses on the ground in a heap.

Marcel rushes inside, blood still stained down his face, and he picks up her small body.

"What have you done, Davina?" His voice shakes.

"What needed to be done," she states, in a quiet, exhausted whisper. Her head falls into his arm and her body goes limp.   
***   
Klaus removes his member from his jeans and teases the entrance to Cami's core as she whimpers in desperation. 

"I can't wait any-" Camille begins, but just as she can barely finish her sentence, Klaus moves his hips inside of her. 

Klaus arches his back and let's out what sounded like a strangled roar, and continues to thrust in unnaturally fast, animalistic time. Camille breaths run together and she gasps and screams.

Klaus continues, but finds that in his chest, two heartbeats race instead of one. The first, his own, but the second, his other - the wolf inside of him, coming through. His teeth unsheathed themselves frothe confines of his gums, and his eyes gleamed yellow-gold in a blinding intensity they never have before. 

He leans down and brushes his lips across hers, before he drags his fangs down her chin, her neck, before he reaches the bouncing, main vein in her neck. Without a second thought, he sinks his teeth into her soft throat and starts to gulp her blood.   
The simmering heat from her blood is filled with ecstasy, but there is something underlying it. A spiced, bitter undertone that started to burn as it slid down Klaus' throat.

He screams and howls at the same time, pulling himself off of Camille and onto the floor of the dining room. 

Camille immediately sits up, the reverie of their affair broken, and instead replaced with fear, concern, and confusion.

"Klaus! Klaus, what's wrong?" She shrieks, helpless in the face of his excruciating pain. 

He doesn't answer, instead screaming and bending upward to face the sky. His eyes gleam, his mouth open in pain, and all of his teeth start to lengthen, sharpen. His face starts to contort, and the bones in hi back start to break and reform. The fingers on his hands darken, and his fingernails snap and become claws.

"Klaus!" Camille screams until her voice chokes her. She cannot stop his pain, and must watch on as each of his bones breaks and reforms. His vocal chords unleash and unending stream of guttural shrieks. 

Camille leaps from the table to the other side of the room, away from him, clutching the table cloth in her gasp. 

After one final crunch and scream, Klaus falls to the ground and falls silent. 

She rushes to his side only to jump back again, shaking in fear. Klaus doesn't lay before her.

A wolf does


End file.
